


I Thought I Was Alone

by theMiragePrismatic



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Gen, Major Original Character(s), Male-Female Friendship, Science Fiction, Self-Indulgent, Sporadic Updates, X-men First Class, more of a series than a solid storyline, tags added as characters appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7426681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theMiragePrismatic/pseuds/theMiragePrismatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnserr is not a kind man - not anymore. He has been alone too long.  The mud and gray of the camps left him bitter and twisted, angry. He knows he is not kind but if he is like metal, she must be like paper? So adaptable but fragile; too strong a breeze and she’ll flit away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paper and Metal

              _Geneva, Switzerland, 1962_

Erik Lehnsherr had thought he was alone. Only the burning need for closure for vengeance kept him going. He was not kind; kindness had been stripped from him long ago. And then he met another of his kind.

It was the click of metal fastenings that catch his attention - a fan, held by a woman, talking to another teller. Their eyes catch and he tips his hat in polite greeting, earning a polite smile in return.  Demure, smiling - dark, fluffy hair hair tied into a french braid, skin a lovely warm bronze-touched tan, he knew someone who was hiding. Roaming alone.

Erik’s eyes drop to her hand were a tiny piece of paper, folds into the shape of a flower and folds over and over and over - as if calming herself. The same way he does with metal - though it’s more tempering his rage than calm in his case.

It doesn’t seem impressive.

But... 

She’s like him.

He thought - 

" _Monseiur_ ," the bank representative returned. _"Le président va vous voir maintenant._ " (Sir, the president will see you now,)

~*~*~*~

A tiny smile creases his face when he returns from threatening the bank president - a successful transaction indeed and he’s almost too distracted to notice the fan woman also heading for the doors. “ _Mademoiselle._ ” he says, stepping back when she too stops and he bows her through, the door guard holding it open. 

“ _Merci, Monsieur_ ,” (Thank you, sir)

He follows her - the metal fastenings on her fan and bag, the pins in her hat, staying a careful distance behind and taking  seat on the fair side of the café, wary.

But too soon, she stares back.

From across the café - she reads very intently but he’s been here all of two minutes and she’s already scanning her surroundings as if she sensed him coming and knows he’s there. The man from the bank.

And she finds him, stares. Very carefully, he raises glass in a silent toast, the tip of a head barely a nod, a polite - not friendly - smile and keeps his eyes locked on hers as he drinks.

She stares for a long moment and he’s not sure if the drop of her head was a returning nod of acknowledgment because she refocuses on her book soon after.

He doesn’t stare quite so intently but she leaves just a few minutes after that. He considers going after her… 

First it begins with identification.

He stays put.

But the next afternoon, he returns to the cafe.

She doesn’t.

He goes back during dinner, making himself busy with ‘paperwork’. He was certain of his eyes and his mind burned with questions.

She doesn’t reappear but her table strangely remains empty for the second day. He leaves a tiny metal star under a plate.

His uncharacteristic patience pays off just as it's wearing off.

It is lunchtime again, late when the worst of the rush has bled off and she comes into the café with an elegant hat perched on her hair, clothes draped around her shoulders - as before a book is in her right hand, an additional satchel in her off hand and she sits at the table that no one seemed to notice

She’s Other, like him. He can tell; her skin is a little too dark for these Aryans, Europeans and her straight hair sometimes looks less than perfect. They are not quite the same but….

They both take the same spots. It’s lunchtime so the cafe is fairly crowded but as before their eyes catch; he’s come prepared. She’s intrigued and afraid all at once. And she’s found the metal star, eyes flicking to him in wonder. He tips his head in a nod.

And Erik Lehnsherr is very aware that he has been alone, alone, alone for so long, always aloof wary. He survived the Second World War; many of his people did not. The mud and gray of the camps left him bitter and twisted, angry. He knows he is not kind but if he is like metal, she must be like paper? So adaptable but fragile; too strong a breeze and she’ll flit away.

He rotates the coin between and over his fingers without touching it and toasts again and he swears she near stops breathing.

It is as if nothing else exists - none of the humans exist - because they are not alone but neither of them is quite willing to believe it yet.

The napkin on her table crinkles; she touches it but she doesn’t move it; her hand is just hovering and it folds. The coin drops on the table with nary and sound and stands at attention before rolling unaided around the edge of the table, stopping at Erik’s finger tip. He takes long drink of the scotch; she takes a deep bite of her scone.

The napkin has folded into a star; she holds her place in her book with a finger, tongue swiping across her lips and moves to stand but he shakes his head; he hasn’t ordered yet and rises to his feet, collecting his briefcase and newspaper.

She watches him come, head tilted to the side, a tiny smile on her lips like she can’t quite believe it.

“ _Mademoiselle_ ,” he says, stopping front of her, taking her hand. _“ - Dame du Livre.._. “ she smiles at that - apparently life-changing people brings out his poetic side.   _“Il est un honneur et un plaisir de vous rencontrer,_ " (Miss, Lady of Paper, it is an honor and a pleasure to meet you,”)

 _“De même, maître de métal. Puis-je connaître ton nom?”_ (Likewise, master of metal. May I know your name?”)

_“Je m’apelle Erik Lehnsherr,”_

_“Je suis Alexine Sabourin,”_

Not what he had been expecting but who is he to judge? He can felt power just simmering beneath her skin and there’s a moment - a pause in time before she takes a breath and opens her book - and the letters rearrange.

_Are we the same?_

He stares for a beat too long and her cautious, hope almost shudders into fear before he takes the aluminium star, tracing it until it rises to a mountain and then into a tiny Star of David. 

No, he hadn’t meant to make - her eyes flare but then she smiles and gestures to the vacant seat.

“ _Voulez-vous joindre à moi pour le déjeuner, monsieur_?” (Would you like to join me for lunch, sir?”

“ _Avec plaisir._ ” _(_ with pleasure _)_


	2. Discovery and Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there are two, certainly, there will be more.
> 
> A replacement/improved version of chapter 2

Walking through Geneva, dress as they are - him in a carefully fitted suit, Miss Sabourin in a simple but flattering dress of blue overlaid with a coat - they look a perfectly respectable couple. No one pays them much mind.

Erik is a very direct person; there’s no luxury for dallying in his life. He makes a decision and follows through regardless of his personal feelings. It’s served him well. So when they are strolling through Geneva, away from curious ears, he gets to the point, the french natural.

_“What is your purpose, here?”_

Alexine arched an eyebrow. _“I am not aiming for anything by accepting your invitation for conversation,”_

He waved it off. _“I - I thought was alone.”_

 _“And now that you’re not, you distrust me?”_ she laughed at his look. _“What do you want, Monseiur Lehnserr?”_

“ _Why were you in the bank?”_

_“For the same reason you were I suspect,”_

He frowned but her mischievous smile simply deepened. _“Don’t be silly, Monsieur. Of course you were never alone. Humanity’s very stories tell us this.”_

_“Explain.”_

_“Mythology. History. Wild tales.”_ she leaned against the railing of the bridge. _“You have a Nazi coin. They had a division dedicated to the occult. Oddities._

_“I’ve been told that is evolution,”_

_“Magic and Science do not cancel each other out. Magic is a simply a precursor to scientific thought. Magic - we seek an explanation, science - we figure out how it works. But I do not think we were the first.”_

_“... How do you feel about Nazis?”_

Her smile wasn't comforting or happy but anticipatory, eyes glinting with vengeance. “They deserve everything coming to them.”

* * *

 She has scars . A long burn on her left forearm, consuming almost half the length from wrist to midway down her forearm and another on her right wrist set over ribbed blue vines and no bigger than her palm. She can create illusions too and uses them to subtly disguise herself.

“It’s nothing,” she says when he firsts sees them.

They’ve checked into a hotel, gotten adjoining rooms. They are both wary and elated with each other’s existence - of someone like them but not quite willing to surrender their personal space but not willing to leave either - like two circling creatures just taking their measure of one another.

His face tightens but he tears his gaze away from it as she hastily jams her gloves back on. “Of course it is,”

“No, no - well,” she pauses. “I have a very keen memory.” she explains. “It’s...hard to explain. But I was a child. Grabbed a pot of boiling tea. It spilled. My mother screamed. In horror, not anger. She - She wasn’t perfect. But … after certain point, I couldn’t deal...with people,”

“Humans. We - we are different,”

They spend hours just showing off their abilities.

Alexine can shape paper into different shapes - but more impressively she slice through wood with it. “Flesh too. Paper cuts sting, you know. Metal’s too tough though,”

“ _Bon_ ,” He reshapes an ugly lamp into a ball as he speaks and tries to smooth out the surface.

 _“I wonder if your abilities can do more than bend metal… “_ she murmured.

He raised his eyebrow in silent question. _“So, Ink and Paper? What can you do with it?”_

She smiled. _“What you’re imagining, I suppose. I can manipulate ink, thus I manipulate what paper says. I can copy it from a distance. You’re hunting Nazis, aren’t you?”_

He dipped his head cautiously.

_“Then we both had business in that bank after all. I think we can help each other, Monseiur Lehnserr,”_

Her eyes go wide at the numbers delicately tattooed on his wrist and she snatched her hand as she traced over them.

_“... You don’t want them gone?”_

Hope bubbled - along with trepidation. They were a blight but just as she had come to accept her burns so had he accepted his own scars.

_“They give me direction,”_

She nodded, withdrawing.

* * *

 He joins her in Italy somewhat reluctantly because his trail has gone cold and if you look hard enough, the hidden pockets of Italy is pleasant, seemingly unaffected by the Second Great War and speaking Italian is something uncommon to him but he wraps his tongue around the romanic words with ease.

She passes him a cigar but hovers back on the balcony of her host's villa.  “I think it’s magic,”

Erik hums thoughtfully, tracing his fingers down her wrist.

They don’t travel together; she roams the land digging into libraries, collecting new words, new ideas to shape. But when his leads to Klaus Schmidt reaches a dead end or he needs new papers, it’s refreshing to be able to turn to help.

She doesn’t wholly approve but she understands. “When society fails to deliver punishment,” she had said. “fate employs instruments to finish the job.”

“We don’t use spells,”

“You don’t,” she corrects. “But I do.” It was true. Anything she wrote down had the possibility of becoming reality; that’s why she wrote her spells in script. "Besides, I am exploring all possibilities."

“You’ve been reading too many stories, soeur. ”

“But Erik,” she whined, flipping over. “It’s stories that shape the future. Some day - one way or another - ”

“Things will change. The way we want them to,”

* * *

 

"Alexine."

She turned a page, fully absorbed in the world, the words changing on the page - there wasn't nearly enough variety of characters in these books....

"Alexine."

\- her eyes sparked with power, her ancestor's voices echoing in her mind, thousands years of -

A hand slammed the book down the table with a loud snap prompting her head to jerk up.

Erik stared down at the changing words on the page. "Not satisfied?"

"A good reader critiques the books."

A tiny smile curved on his lips as he pulled up a chair beside her. "Well, I need you to critique something more...substantial than books,"

She watched him carefully as he flipped through the altered story, nodding in approval.

“Can you help me with my search?”

“Your hunt?”

He tipped his head in concession.

"How was Argentina?"

"They choose blood over honor."

Alexine frowned slightly. “Should you be using your abilities, like this, Erik?”

Erik paused, looking at her with something like anger. "They are natural. They are me."

“I don’t meet you’re cheating, ” she rolled her eyes. “But… they had a division, dedicated to this. The occult. The strange. The unknown,”

“I am aware,” he said. “They will fail,”

Alexine eyed him carefully, taking his meaning and frowned. “Well, be more careful in the future,”

He shrugged; once a target had been more knowledgeable than he had thought but he'd come out on top in the end.

“I’ve been doing this for awhile,” he said and picked up her small stack of notes, abandoned next to her. “How long have you had your abilities?”

She paused but allowed him to change the subject. “Since I was young. My mother was very proud. My father too but more… wary.”

He admitted curiosity but she did not question him beyond the obvious so neither would he. “How good are you with illusions?”

She gives him a look that suggest it was a dumb question and the answer was no. He sighed.

"I thought it was of interest. How do you feel about the United States?"

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t take Alexine with him on his hunts. She doesn’t want to go, he does not want to her go. These are his demons. And he hunts them alone.

She does think Shaw is dangerous and insists on going with him to America if only to be nearby and not across the ocean. Her information had been invaluable but sometimes she just couldn’t get at it if it weren’t on paper.

And then he meets Charles Xavier.

It is not … shocking but he and Alexine - while they’d chatted about others, they didn’t go look for any. It was unlikely they’d want to be found and besides, he and Alexine had both spent too long alone.

Each other’s company - however infrequent, irregular and comfortable - was enough.

However, Charles seemed rather persistent,

 ****

I didn't get Shaw.

Erik’s firm sure hand appears on her letter pages as if traces there by a ghost.

But I found others. Like us.

She all but snatches up the Caduceus- her special stylograph - words slashing in reply. Really?! How many?!

I want to take measure of them first. He warned. I will keep you informed. Wait.

Erik -

Shaw has powers as well. He has associates. Wait.

Don’t be rash. Even though she knows he will be.

  

**Author's Note:**

> Recently(ish) I saw a clip of Quicksilver in X-Men Apocalypse and not knowing what film it was from (at the time) promptly went to watch Days of Future Past and then X-Men First Class. I'm trying to just publish things instead of insecurely sitting on them forever and didn't realize until yesterday that X-Men Apocalypse came out THIS YEAR/in May.
> 
> From my brief understanding of French, these translations seem correct. I had more '1920s' vibe in my head than 1960s (idk what a formal 1960s vibe IS). If you speak French, please, please tell me if these are horribly wrong or even vaguely wrong.


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